


As black as my soul

by Crimsoncat



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-10 22:29:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10448946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crimsoncat/pseuds/Crimsoncat
Summary: BlackHill fluff; connecting over coffee.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Offbrand_Valk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Offbrand_Valk/gifts).



> Written in the middle of the night, after being awake for the better part of three days. Apologies for the typos I'm too tired to fix.
> 
> Inspired by [this post](https://mariahillstiddies.tumblr.com/post/158815200710/maria-nat-how-do-you-want-your-coffee-natasha) on tumblr.
> 
> My hand slipped.

Natasha wanders into the Avengers’ shared kitchen, eyes barely open, and collapses onto a barstool at the counter. She puts her head on her arms and groans when Clint pokes her in the side.

“Quit it,” she mutters, slapping uselessly at the air between them.

Maria turns away to hide her amused smirk. She’s staying at the Tower for a week while her place gets fumigated, and early morning Natasha is quickly becoming her favourite thing in the world.

She’d been surprised the first time it had happened. The way Natasha stumbled into the kitchen, half alive and barely aware of her surroundings, had scared Maria a little. But when no one else reacted, when it became obvious that this was just a thing that happened around here (like tony’s three am movie marathons and finding Mjölnir forgotten in random places) Maria relaxed a bit.

Tony had put a cup of coffee in front of the Russian, and by the time it was mostly empty Natasha was her usual self. She’d given Maria a _look_ once she was aware of the world again. Natasha had tilted her head ever so slightly and considered Maria in a way that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. But she didn't _say_ anything. Natasha simply poured some more coffee into a travel mug and wandered away to do the strange and unknowable things that the Black Widow does when no one is watching.

Since then Maria had been sure to be in the kitchen each morning. Early morning Natasha was adorable and precious; vulnerable in a way Maria never thought she’d be lucky enough to witness. It was her favourite part of the day, and if she wasn't aware of exactly how unhealthy it was to indulge in her unrequited feelings like this, it might've been enough for Maria to reconsider taking a floor of her own at the Tower.

Maria shakes her head, banishing the thought. She can’t live here full time. As it is, Maria will be lucky to make it through the rest of the week without murdering someone. (Never mind that spending each morning falling more in love with a woman she cannot have is not something Maria should be doing.)

Natasha groans, bringing Maria back to the present, and she looks around the room in surprise. Everyone else is gone, and Natasha is still coffeeless.

“Assholes,” Natasha mutters tiredly. She slides off her bar stool, but Maria waves her back onto it before she can take a step.

“I'll get it,” Maria offers. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Thanks, Hill.” Natasha sags against the counter. “As black as my soul,” she chuckles.

Maria blinks, frowning a little as she turns away. “Sure.”

It only takes a couple minutes, but by the time Maria brings over the mug Natasha is fast asleep. With her head pillowed on her arms, lips parted ever so slightly, and her curls still wild and untamed, she’s the sweetest thing Maria has ever seen. Maria puts the mug on the counter beside the Russian and puts a hand on her shoulder.

“Natasha?” Maria shakes her gently.

It's possibly the stupidest thing she’s ever done, and Maria almost expects the assassin to accidentally break her arm before she’s fully awake. But Natasha just blinks up at Maria sleepily. It’s the moment that Maria knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Natasha _trusts_ her completely.

“I brought your coffee,” Maria murmurs, hand still resting on her shoulder.

Natasha’s lips twitch into a tired smile as she sits up and reaches for the mug, but her smile falters as she notices it’s contents.

She is expecting a cup of strong black coffee, but there is no coffee. The mug is full of cream.

Natasha’s mouth opens and closes uselessly as words fail her. Her hands tighten around the mug, knuckles going white with the force of her grip, and she stares at the mug full of blindingly white cream.

Maria squeezes the Russian’s shoulder awkwardly and moves to get Natasha an actual cup of coffee, confident that she’s made her point about how dark she thinks Natasha’s soul really is. But Natasha covers Maria’s hand with her own, moving faster than Maria thought possible before her first cup of coffee, and keeps Maria from moving away. Natasha still doesn't say anything, though her hand tightens around Maria’s as she leans into her.

Natasha finally turns away from the mug full of cream. She rests her cheek against Maria’s hand for a few moments before turning her face and pressing her lips against Maria’s fingers. “Thank you,” Natasha speaks softly. Maria is surprised to hear her voice crack ever so slightly, almost as if she were fighting back tears.

They stay like that for a moment before Natasha clears her throat and speaks again. “Though I can’t actually drink this.”

Maria laughs. “I know.”

Natasha sits up, shifting away from Maria so she can get the Russian her promised cup of coffee. Maria reluctantly moves across the kitchen, already missing the warmth of Natasha pressed against her side. Maria refills her own coffee mug while she’s at it and turns back to find Natasha watching her carefully.

Maria is very proud of the fact that she doesn't stumble. She has seen bad guys, scary and **powerful** people, turn and run when faced with one of the Black Widow’s careful and calculating stares. (But she isn't the Black Widow here. Here she is just _Natasha_ , still blinking sleep from her eyes, with her bare feet dangling carelessly from her barstool.)

Maria meets Natasha’s gaze as she moves across the kitchen. She hands Natasha her coffee, fingertips trailing across Natasha’s as the mug changes hands, and sits down beside her. Natasha shifts her barstool closer to Maria’s before taking her first sip of coffee, and Maria smiles at the contented sigh she makes.

They sit together in comfortable silence and enjoy their coffee and the company.

“Perfect,” Natasha murmurs happily once her coffee is mostly gone. She glances at Maria out of the corner of her eye. “The coffee is pretty good, too.”

Maria turns towards Natasha, too surprised to reply, and the Russian smiles at her. She's still watching Maria carefully, Natasha watches _everyone_ carefully, but it's different somehow. She's looking at Maria like she’s actually seeing her for the first time.

“We should grab dinner,” Natasha suggests.

“I’d like that,” Maria says after a moment of stunned silence. “I’d like that a lot.”

Natasha drains the rest of her coffee and hops off of her barstool. She stretches towards Maria, brushing her lips against Maria’s cheek as she murmurs quietly, “I'll text you later.”

“Ok,” Maria manages. She wants to say something witty, something casual and flirty, but the feel of Natasha’s lips wipes everything else from her mind and words fail her.

“Thanks for the coffee." Natasha flashes her a fond smile, and then she’s gone.

Maria touches her cheek absently. She needs to finish drinking her coffee and leave for work, but she doesn't move. Instead Maria sits there, happier than she’s been in a long time, and she smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> I imagine Tony puts fancy state of the art coffee makers on each floor in everyone's kitchen. Natasha manages to break three of them.
> 
> She has zero patience for that many buttons so early in the morning, and in the end it's just easier (and cheaper) for her to wander down to the shared kitchen for her coffee.


End file.
